Paris, Texas: FBI Special Unit
by Tidia
Summary: Modern AU set in Paris, Texas with the Athos, Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan as part of a special unit in the southern states known as the Musketeers. Chapter 5: One Of Two Ways based on the episode Sleight of Hand. No slash.
1. Probationary Period

**Title**: Probationary Period

**By**: Tidia

**Beta**: All mistakes are my own.

**Disclaimer**: As this an AU of a book that is over 100 years old, I think I am safe, but what the heck-disclaimed.

**A/N**: This is a modern AU because although I plan to write in the timeline I think it is best to wait until the 10 episodes are completed. Also, it is easier to write in a modern AU and to move it to the US and I can have fun being creative. There is also the issue that the remaining d'Artagnan books don't have the brotherly relationship that I am looking for. Hello, Supernatural Brotherhood fans- as you know I have to do something with a brother relationship. Will there be more of these (are you still reading the author's notes- you rock!)? Yes, I have a few ideas.

Paris, Texas is the second largest Paris and there is an Eiffel Tower with a red cowboy hat.

* * *

_Chapter 1: Probationary Period_

The probationary period had ended and Aramis had the rapier ready. It had been a tradition he started when the team was formed five years ago. Aramis had found three rapiers at an antique store. Each sword was different and fitted the personality of the men. For Athos, a strong blade in an elegant simple hilt with etched fleur de lis on the forte hung on the wall of the supervisory agent's office. Porthos's blade was about strength, the hilt was fortified and thick and the blade plain. Like Aramis, the Special Agent's blade was behind his desk, sitting in a sword stand. Thankfully, the blades were dull, because Special Agent in Charge Treville did not want them engaging in swordplay in their downtime. Still sometime, during a late night with Treville away from his office one flight up over the bullpen, the swords came out. Aramis's delicate blade had even endured a knick from Athos's blade as Athos knew how to fence and tied to teach them from time to time.

Aramis was surprised he had to find another blade. He thought the three of them were a complete team within the division run by Louis Capetian, one of the youngest Division Chiefs. Division Chief Capetian had been charged with running a special division out of Paris, Texas where the FBI's mission was to work with local law enforcement instead of taking over as was the norm for the Bureau. They were assigned to the southern state region. The Director wanted to work on the FBI's reputation of being Famous But Incompetent, and that could only happen with a grassroots effort.

Treville's team had been nicknamed the Musketeers while Richeleiu's team was known as the Red Guards. Richelieu was known for having a group of well-paid informants that he utilized for results, instead of the good police work that was done by the Musketeer teams. Aramis, as a Musketeer felt strongly that the Musketeers were the better group and was glad that d'Artagnan had joined their ranks.

It had been a rough beginning with Athos being framed for murders he did not commit; thankfully he had a good alibi. d'Artagnan had been instrumental in proving Athos's innocence, and getting justice for his father's death. The young man proved that he could be a good fit for the group. Athos was a strategist, Aramis the sniper and trained EMT and Porthos an undercover specialist, and with d'Artagnan they discovered they saw a little bit of all them in him. He could be trusted to stand with them. d'Artagnan had the right credentials, ROTC in college and a 4 year stint in the Green Berets gave him the skills needed to join the FBI and he had a need to be useful. As d'Artagnan had said many times, he didn't have the patience to be a farmer like his father. The FBI was a better fit.

Aramis didn't know how, but a bond had formed between Athos and d'Artagnan. It was not that they had a similar background. From what Athos shared he was in Harvard Law when after a romance gone wrong he joined the National Guard and served overseas. Aramis had come in through Border Control and Porthos through Houston PD.

Aramis did not knock as he entered Athos's office as was his custom. He sat down, placing the wrapped sword in his lap. He was always amused by the view from Athos's window- he overlooked Collegiate Drive and the only Eiffel Tower with a red cowboy hat on it. "I thought we could present it together?"

Athos glanced up from his paperwork, then focused again on the forms in front of him. "All for one and one for all. Really, Aramis?"

But Aramis would not be put off. Athos had a gruff exterior, yet this group of brothers was his only family. He would do anything for them as Aramis had been on the receiving end and witnessed. "I like it, and we are going to Dumas's afterwards for drinks."

Athos neatened the pile before him and put his pen down. He relaxed into his chair and gave a rub to his beard. "You should have said that from the beginning."

"We are trying to curb your alcoholic tendencies."

"I noticed."

Aramis winced. They were not doing a good job about being discreet in their surveillance. He and Porthos did keep tabs on which bar their supervisor could be found in after work when they were not together. Even d'Artagnan had assisted when he came on board. Thankfully, they could trust Constance at Dumas, and Athos tended to take a corner booth to brood there frequently.

Porthos popped his dark head in. "He's coming back."

d'Artagnan rejoined them, coming down the stairs from Treville's office with a manila folder in his hand. "It's official. I passed my probationary period."

Aramis smiled. "Almost Special Agent, part of the Musketeers."

D'Artagnan shook his head. He would not feel like one of them until it was official even though they told him it did not matter. "Not yet. Chief Capetian has to sign off, and Treville says under protocol that's another 3 months."

"Even with your work on the Vadim case?" Porthos asked, taking the other chair in the office so that he wasn't taking up the whole doorway. "I thought for sure that you would be a shoe-in for a fast track."

"Maybe if there hadn't been collateral property damage," Athos interjected.

Porthos shrugged his shoulders. "Pff, what's a little damage when you stop a known armed robber."

Athos raised his brows. "And the fact that he got hurt." d'Artagnan, just out of Quantico training, had volunteered since he was the only person in the unit that Vadim was not familiar with and could be easily placed. However, they had forgotten that Vadim was a mastermind, and did not trust so easily.

"The kid just wanted to make sure that his health insurance benefits had kicked in." Porthos replied quickly, still in his usual jovial mood.

Aramis stood up, holding out the package to d'Artagnan who was still in the doorway of the office. "Well, you are one of us."

He accepted the package, tucking the folder under his arm. The younger man studied it for a moment.

"Go ahead, unwrap it," Porthos prompted. "We're taking you out after and I'm hungry."

d'Artagnan carefully unpeeled the paper. "A sword." The hilt was more intricate in the curvature then the other swords Aramis had acquired. d'Artagnan held it out in a stance, then rested the blade in the palm of his hands.

"A symbol of brotherhood," Aramis said, seeing that the young man had appreciated the sentiment. He had admired their swords, commented upon them.

"And that Aramis has too much time on his hands to search every antique shop in a hundred mile radius," Athos added. "When he should be working."

"He used ebay. I know that for a fact, and I think it was his latest girlfriend who found it for him," Porthos defended his friend.

It was well known that Aramis enjoyed the company of the opposite sex. They found him irresistible.

"How old is this one?" Athos asked with a small grin developing.

Aramis turned so that his back was completely facing Porthos and Athos. They snickered in response. "Ignore them." Aramis put a hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder. "You are one us and this makes it official to _us_."

d'Artagnan seemed to be struggling, and his Adam's apple shifted up and down in caught emotion before he answered. "Thank you. I don't know what to say."

Porthos stood, pushing Aramis towards the door. "We are men of action. Buy us drinks."

They shuffled out of the office, d'Artagnan stopping at his desk and set the rapier upon it.

Athos joined them, shutting the light in his office and closing the door as they made their way to the elevator.

"I'm sure that Constance will be happy to provide congratulatory drinks," Aramis said, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair.

d'Artagnan rolled his eyes. "She's married." Since he came to Paris he had been living in the apartment above the bar, and helping the beautiful landlady when he had free time.

"A temporary condition," Aramis replied. He knew how things could change in life. He had thought he would become a priest, but instead he was working for the FBI.

"Aramis, do not give Agent d'Artagnan advice when it comes to love." It sounded as if Athos was giving an order.

"He is still impressionable, not like your jaded soul." Aramis threw an arm around Athos's shoulders. "I still pray for you."

"I am sure that prayer somehow involves your expense account. A new suit?" Athos reached across and tugged on Aramis's sports coat.

Aramis carefully extricated Athos's fingers from the cloth. "Someone has to keep up appearances here, and explosives debris wreaks havoc on Armani." He did not add that he knew that Athos's suits were custom tailored and expensive. There was a mystery around their supervisor that he had yet to reveal.

Porthos elbowed d'Artagnan. "Let me pass this along—disposable clothes." Porthos rolled his hand down his body flamboyantly. He wore a neat goatee like Aramis, but the similarity ended there. Porthos was casual wearing jeans and a long sleeve t-shirt. If they were in the field, then he wore his FBI jacket, otherwise it was his well-worn leather jacket.

d'Artagnan wormed his way out of the larger man's grasp, dusting off his button down shirt tucked into his jeans. "Is this how it is going to be? Unsolicited advice at all times?"

Athos nodded. "Yes, I would get used to it. It will last longer than your probationary period." He clapped d'Artagnan on the back and laughed.

Aramis grinned. He hoped it would be a brotherhood of a lifetime.


	2. Making The Cut

Chapter 2: Making the Cut

A/N: Still having fun in expanding this idea. I have a thought for another story and just need to let it ferment a bit. Thank you kindly for the followers, the marking this story as favorite and the reviews. I truly appreciate it.

* * *

It was late at night and his phone was ringing. Athos stretched for the phone and saw the name d'Artagnan flashing.

_"No, I am calling. Stop," said a woman's voice into the phone._

Athos rubbed a hand down his face. He was not in the mood for drunk dialing or misdialing or whatever this was. "Hello?"

_"Sorry, I tried calling Aramis, but his phone kept going to voicemail," the woman explained. _

Athos still kept his eyes closed in the hopes he was going to get back to sleep in a moment. "And this is?"

_"Constance. From Dumas's."_

"Hello, Constance." His mind brought up the young woman who owned the bar where he and the others spent a significant amount of time. "Aramis is probably otherwise engaged." He was about to hang up, believing he had solved the issue and he would have a discussion with d'Artagnan about where he left his phone.

_"d'Artagnan refuses to go to the hospital and I thought I should call Aramis since he is an EMT."_

Athos opened his eyes. He was awake, pushing the covers off and losing the warmth from his bed. "Is he injured?"

_"Yes," Constance replied. _

_"No!" d'Artagnan could be heard yelping in the background. "Hand the phone over, Constance. You shouldn't have bothered him."_

_"Yes, he is bleeding from a knife wound. It won't stop bleeding." She was speaking louder, which Athos assumed meant that she was scolding her tenant._

"Apply pressure and tell him to clot. I will be there shortly." Athos got dressed in the dark and dialed Aramis's number repeatedly.

******FBIMSU*******

Athos made it to Aramis's condo in record speed with no traffic and speeding in his Audi Q5. He checked through the windows of the garage and saw Aramis's BMW inside. He rang the doorbell a few times before he pulled out his key and unlocked the door. "Aramis!" He yelled, not caring about the neighbors that Aramis shared a wall with. He was making his way up the stairs when a sheet clad, sleepy-eyed Aramis came to the landing with his gun at the ready. "I thought-" Aramis tried to explain.

"Get your kit. d'Artagnan's been hurt."

Aramis didn't reply, still sleepy and with sheet trailing he headed back to his room. "Darling, I have an emergency at work."

Athos didn't like cooling his jets even though only five minutes had passed when Aramis returned, less disheveled with his emergency case, which was an oversized toolbox. "Lead on."

They made it to the car in silence, buckled themselves into their seats.

"Porthos?" Aramis asked.

"Will meet us there." Athos pushed the ignition. "In the future the phone stays on," he warned. He wanted to respect his agent's privacy, but they were issued cellphones for a reason.

Aramis nodded. "My mistake. Do you know what happened?"

******FBIMSU*******

"I'll tell you what happened. He decided that he could handle four rowdy patrons on his own." Constance explained as she paced, her ponytail swinging back and forth. Athos and the others respected her space, seeing that she was upset and angry. Porthos had already arrived and shook his head; evidently he had already heard the story numerous times. The larger man had a towel in place over the wound, pinning the younger man to the mattress.

d'Artagnan was on his side on the bed, his shirt pulled up, the sheets smudged with blood and his complexion blending into the whiteness of the pillow. "I did handle four on my own. It was the fifth one that was the problem." He squirmed. "Ease up," he asked Porthos who ignored him.

Aramis was in his EMT mode, having placed his kit on the floor and slipped on a pair of the blue latex free gloves. "Let me see what we've got."

Porthos released the towel and stepped back. What was once a light blue towel showed dampness of red and purple as the cloth.

The wound was more toward the back, showing that someone had struck from behind. "I assume that they insulted Madame's honor?" Aramis moved d'Artagnan so he was on his stomach. "Can I have another towel for the bed? Blood is tough to get out of mattresses."

Constance seemed relieved to have a job and scurried to the bathroom.

"A little too grabby and they didn't respect closing time." d'Artagnan hissed as Aramis probed the wound with gloved fingers.

"I would have managed," Constance explained, bringing two towels with her. She handed them to Athos. "Just use a couple of butterflies and I'll be fine- that's what he told me," she added.

Athos tucked one towel under d'Artagnan, noticing that his skin was cool. He spied a blanket and covered the young man's leg with a nod from Aramis. Shock was still a possibility although with the injured man talkative and responsive, it was less of a threat.

"Constance, can we have a bottle of the Glenlivet? Just put it on my tab" He asked Constance who was ringing her hands that were stained with blood.

"Yes, I'll be right back." Constance moved to exit down the stairs.

Athos gestured for Porthos to go with her in order to keep her occupied and give Aramis some breathing room. "Porthos will go with you to help you clean up. I am sure that there must be some damage to the bar. I assume that your husband is traveling?"

She nodded and allowed Porthos to guide her down the stairs. It was well known that Mr. Bonceiux was in tech sales and spent a majority of time on the road.

Aramis ripped d'Artagana's shirt then slipped it off the patient with efficiency and limited movement, handing it to Athos to throw away. Athos opened it up and saw the slit in the shirt, the blood that had sunk into the fabric.

"He had a knife and came up from behind." d'Artagnan hissed as Aramis resumed the pressure on the wound.

"What happened to them?" Athos asked to get an explanation, but also provide a distraction.

"I took care of the four guys and the fifth one? I had a bigger knife." He wiggled his feet, which still were boot clad.

With a sigh Athos pulled them off and discovered the Kabar knife that d'Artagnan had hidden in the inside of his boot.

Aramis sat down on the bed. "Why aren't we in the hospital?"

"I'm coming up on 6 months. If I go to the hospital then it all gets reported."

Athos crossed his arms and pinned d'Artagnan with an unwavering look. "Is this because I wouldn't spar with you today?"

The younger man rolled his eyes. "Yes, I was itching for a fight."

"Well, you are hotheaded and reckless," Athos reminded him. Had believed it from their first meeting and thought that if it was tempered, then d'Artagnan would be a great agent.

"I am not."

Aramis interrupted. The lack of sleep and appreciation was getting to him. "The sarcasm is unnecessary. We are trying to help."

"I'm sorry about this…you don't have to…I told her not to call…" d'Artagnan tried to scoot away, but Aramis held him easily in place as he lifted the towel.

"This is deep."

"Can you fix it?" Athos took a glance at the neat cut. It was still bleeding at a slower rate, but even he could tell a significant number of stitches would be needed.

"Not ideal. He's lost a lot of blood," Aramis replied, reaching for a stitch kit from his case, then what looked like a local anesthetic and an IV bag.

"You know I was in Afghanistan…" d'Artagnan tried to twist to look at the cut. "It's not like I haven't had worse-"

Aramis cuffed his head, but otherwise ignored his comment. "I can give him an IV and stitch it up, then he needs to take it easy. This all goes south, then it's the hospital. Deal?"

"Deal," the younger man agreed.

Athos crouched down so he was at eye level with his agent. "No, you don't make the deal. I do." He nodded at Aramis. "Agreed."

Aramis swabbed the crook of d'Artagnan's arm on the side without the wound to start the IV. "I'll try to make you comfortable."

"Okay. Thanks." d'Artagnan winced when the needle went in.

Aramis passed Athos the line, the bag and some duct tape to finish it off. He held the bag high and attached it to the headboard of the bed. "Try to relax."

d'Artagnan nodded and closed his eyes as Aramis numbed the area with local anesthetic.

"It takes about twenty minutes to work. I'll clean this out in the meantime." The EMT trained agent took a bottle of sterile saline and washed the area, keeping the extra towel close to absorb the liquid. "At least in Texas they keep their knives clean."

Athos smirked. "There is that."

Aramis dried the area with gauze. It was still trickling blood, but it was substantially less than when they arrived. "Do you feel this?"

"A little, but not really," d'Artagnan replied.

"That was descriptive and oh so helpful," Aramis quipped. "This would be easier if you passed out because we wouldn't have to keep up a witty repartee. You know that is not Athos's strong suit."

D'Artagnan sighed, fidgeting the fingers on the arm that had the IV. "I don't think that will happen. Hasn't in the past."

Aramis raised his brows to Athos. They had both noted the scarring in what Athos would assume were war wounds, not from growing up on a farm. He had similar marks from his time overseas. The needle in the kit was threaded; Aramis sterilized around the wound with betadyne, and started the first stitch.

D'Artagnan's apartments was an open concept with a small kitchen on one side, a kitchen table, bathroom and open living area with a couch and television that led into a bed on the other side. For the young man it was more than enough space and at a good price. Athos went to the kitchen and picked up one of the well-worn kitchen chairs, bringing it with him to sit by his young agent's bed. "As this is the first time you have been stitched by Aramis, you may want to know that he leaves his mark. A signature."

"What?" d'Artagnan frowned.

"He likes alligators. Quite clever, really. Let me show you." He pulled up his sleeve of his dark pullover. "Does that not look like an alligator?"

"It does not." Aramis commented without looking up from his stitching.

d'Artagnan squinted, then grinned. "It kinda does."

The distraction was what the younger man needed as he seemed to relax. The tension from the pain seemed to dissipate as had the slight tremor that Athos had noticed.

The old scar was ugly. It was an argument that he had with Aramis many times as it wasn't his finest work. Aramis defended himself, "It was the wound, not my stitching."

D'Artagnan laughed, but the movement made him flinch. "Ow!"

"Stop distracting me." Aramis looked up. He took his stitching seriously as he preferred healing to hurting. "I am partial to cats, too and you've given me a lot to work with."

Porthos cleared his throat. He lifted the bottle that Athos had requested. "I'll leave this in the kitchen."

"Can you take Constance home with the assurance that all is well?" Athos asked his other agent. "And bring over a glass."

"I can do that." Porthos opened the bottle, then a cupboard for a glass. He brought the drink back. "Do you want me to come back?" He squeezed d'Artagnan's foot. "I can hold your hand, too."

D'Artagnan pointed the middle finger at the other agent who laughed in response.

"Check in with us in the morning, but I think he'll be fine." Athos said after taking a sip of the scotch and enjoying its familiar warmth.

"Will do," Porthos said as he glanced at the stitches. "Is that a cat? What about the alligator?"

"Aramis!" d'Artagnan exclaimed, then winced.

Porthos left, chuckling down the stairs. "I'll bring the donuts in the morning!"

Finally, d'Artagnan succumbed to the blood loss and exhaustion of the trauma. The IV bag had run out, Athos slipped the needle out and covered the hole left behind with a band aid. Aramis tied off the last stitch and sat back to admire his work.

Athos rubbed a hand over his beard as he got up from the hard tack chair. He had finished his glass of Glenlivet a long time ago and refreshed his in the kitchen. He filled another tumbler for Aramis and handed it to him with a mock toast. "How many?"

"Thirty-five." He took a sip, and placed the glass on the floor as he went to his kit to pull out a bandage. "Still believe we made the right decision?"

Athos did not answer the question. He did not know if they had made the right choice, but he understood the reasoning d'Artagnan had in fighting to protect Constance and in not wanting to risk his status. "Take the couch."

"And you?" Aramis finished with the medical tape and closed his kit, placing the IV bag and other materials he used in a red medical disposable bag, which he left on top of his kit. He picked up his glass and moved his neck, releasing it with a crack.

Athos grinned. "I'll find a spot when I am tired. I was in Iraq after all." He used his service record as had d'Artagnan.

Aramis stood up slowly and jutted his chin towards the injured man. "He's rubbing off on you. In a good way. I think on all of us."

"Get your beauty sleep," Athos ordered, taking up his seat once more.

"It _was_ interrupted." Aramis went to the couch and stretched out. "Stitches out next Sunday. He can't be removing his shirt at work until they are out. We don't want word to go back to Richalieu and his men."

"Noted." Athos extended the blanket over d'Artagnan. "I'm sure we will all be willing to remind him."

"To keep him safe." Athos heard Aramis mumbled.

'To keep him safe.' Athos put his feet on the bed and watched his men sleep.


	3. Making the Cut, Continued

_**Continued from Chapter 2, Making the Cut**_

Notes: I usually do not do this, but faerie requested a little more so I stretched it into another chapter. Thank you for the reviews, the follows, the favorites. I really appreciate them after a self imposed exile from writing. I am looking forward to the the season finale, and will continue to write.

_FYI-_ a reviewer mentioned about Aramis affording a BMW and I just wanted to share my thoughts. His pay grade would have him earning 100-130K, a condo/single family home in Paris is about 65K-75K. I also did not mention the age of the BMW, but I can assure you that in my mind that he got a good deal (I am basing this off someone I know) and keeps that car in pristine condition regardless of age. I hope that helps. In this part I am just expanding on some ideas. (Rhiana- Laredo shout out and future story shout out for you.)

* * *

When d'Artagnan awoke it was to the smell of coffee and the pull of stitches. He felt the soreness of where he had been cut, and moved gingerly to his side before leveraging himself up. He stayed there for a moment, hands on thighs to become fully awake. He noticed the kitchen chair near his bed, looked over to the couch with the blanket tossed haphazardly on it, then looked over to his kitchen table to see Aramis, Porthos and Athos having donuts and coffee.

He stood up. He placed a hand on the bandage, noticing some blood on it and shuffled over to the table too lazy to put a shirt on.

"You're running out of pods." Porthos pointed to the Keurig.

The three men had given him that coffee maker when he arrived in Paris—actually Aramis had purchased it and handed it to him. The other poked fun at Aramis because he always found a deal. The coffee maker was now his prized possession after his tv. A 50 inch flat screen that Aramis had helped him purchase at a discount. Otherwise he kept his place Spartan. "Did you save me the Carmel Vanilla one? It's my favorite and I'm wounded." He would use the sympathy card when he could.

"I did." Aramis stood up. "Have a seat."

D'Artagnan sat in the vacated seat.

"How are you feeling?" Athos asked, nursing a cup of coffee.

"Not bad." He pulled the donut box towards him to see what was left. Porthos had gone to Southern Maid Donuts. He picked the chocolate glaze to start as he noticed a mug of coffee being placed in front of him and two pills.

"Ibuprofen and an antibiotic," Aramis explained. "So your plan today is to rest. What do you believe your plan is tomorrow?"

D'Artagnan looked at Porthos for confirmation who nodded. "Rest?"

"We have informed Constance of this, and she has assured us that she will be watching you." Athos dunked the donut piece into his coffee.

"I'm fine." He did not want people hovering and worrying over him.

"Thirty five stitches," Athos said.

"By yours truly." Aramis was leaning against the kitchen counter with his coffee mug in his hand. "And you begged us not to take you to the hospital so that Treville and Capetian wouldn't find out."

"I wouldn't say _beg_." The younger man frowned.

"It was begging. Pathetic." Porthos took another donut and bit into it, smacking his mouth with happiness of a good donut.

"Which means this week you will listen to us." Athos stood up and went to the sink to wash his mug.

D'Artagnan looked away, concentrating on his donut and inhaling the smell of the vanilla caramel. "I always listen."

Porthos cleared his throat.

"Just last week, did I not suggest in avoiding Cooper?" Aramis asked, still leaning against the counter, but with Athos next to him. Cooper was one of Richelieu's men that the Musketeers had nicknamed mole, his beady eyes and small features were one reason, but the other is that he reported on the Musketeers.

"Yeah, but he is an asshole." D'Artagnan had outshot him at the range and purposefully rubbed it in.

"Now you are on his radar." Porthos shook his head, sighing in mock disappointment.

Athos raised his brows, and D'artagnan was forced to agree. "I almost always listen."

"With that Athos, can you give me a ride home?" Aramis slapped Athos's stomach.

"I'll keep an eye on the kid." Porthos stood up, moved to the couch.

D'Artagnan rolled his eyes. "So your plan is to hold me hostage?"

"Yep and do paperwork." Porthos placed a hand on the laptop, which sat upon the coffee table. D'Artagnan had not noticed it when he walked past it to the kitchen. His laptop was under the bed.

Athos smiled. "We will be back later."

***((()))***

Porthos sat on one end of the couch, feet extended on the coffee table, television on and laptop on his legs, college basketball game in the background. They both kept looking at the game, then diverting their attention back to their laptops.

D'Artagnan was sitting on the other side of the couch. Porthos thought he was probably surfing the net, then catching up on paperwork. As an unofficial agent, he did not have the full responsibilities of a special agent. "Is that our next case?"

"Could be. A friend of mine wants help with some gang activity in Laredo. I want to present it to Treville. Athos already said he would back it up." Derek had mentioned that gang violence was escalating. Porthos was going through a few strategies, one of which had him going undercover. He had long since cultivated an alter ego.

"You went to school there- right?"

"Texas A& M. Thank God for football scholarships. Though with my mom I was going to college one way or another." He spoke to his mother frequently, but hadn't made the time to return to Houston for a proper visit in a few months. He promised he would see her as soon as he had a weekend free.

"You're a Mama's Boy?" d'Artagnan teased.

They could hear the footsteps coming up the stairs. Aramis had arrived, looking showered, still unshaven, but with a change of clothes different from the track pants and t-shirt from last night.

"You have not met my mom. No lip, no sass, she's the boss and kept us together. You don't want to disappoint Mama." Angela Vallon was a strong woman to bring up her children in a tough section of Houston while keeping them on the straight and narrow.

Aramis slipped out of the messenger bag that was across his body. "You should see Porthos with his mother. He's a pussy cat."

Athos was coming up the stairs at a slower pace with his case on his shoulder. "And what should we say about you?"

Aramis stepped over d'Artagnan's legs and took the last cushion on the couch, leaving the chair for Athos. "I'm my mom's favorite," he said as he sat down with a huff.

"Aramis has two sisters. He's the only boy. The prince." Porthos waved his hand with a flourish.

"It is a cross I bear." Aramis pressed his hands together as if he was praying, then blessed himself, bringing up the gold cross he wore around his neck and kissed it.

"She wants him to settle down, since he's not going to be a priest," Athos added, taking the chair that had been left available for him. He opened his bag and pulled out a file plus a yellow legal pad.

Aramis relaxed back, putting his hands behind his neck. "The vow of celibacy was the first issue-"

"One day I am sure he will tell you this story of the church youth coordinator."

"Courtney. . ." Aramis reminded Athos. It was a story that Aramis had told them before of being a late bloomer.

"There was another issue?" D'Artagnan was new to the group, and listened with rapt attention to their stories to learn more about these men he had found that he had formed a bond to.

"Poverty. Let's say college was an eye opening experience."

"He became a metro sexual." Porthos elbowed his friend. Aramis spoke of his time in Arizona State and the friends he had made there who had shown him another world that wealthy parents from other countries provided. Not that he had forgotten his roots, but Aramis grew to appreciate cars, women and image. Yet, Porthos knew there was another reason that after his college graduation he turned away from religious studies and became a Border Patrol Agent. Aramis never shared the reason, leaving Porthos with speculation.

"And our bargain shopper." Athos snorted.

Aramis shook his head. "They are just jealous of my skills."

"You said your mom wants you to settle down. . ."

Porthos smiled at d'Artagnan's persistence. The young man had no family to speak of, having lost his father. His mother died when he just a child. There was a picture on an end table of a young couple in their prime that honored them.

Aramis smiled and chuckled before answering, "I blame Athos working me too hard. There's been a novena for him to turn from his ways."

"It's not working." Athos said without looking up from the notes he was taking. "We're still putting in fifty plus hours. You should ask your mother to pray for d'Artagnan about staying out of trouble."

"And send more cookies," Porthos said as he thought about the Mexican wedding cookies that Aramis would share when he received his care packages from home.

"You will meet them all soon enough." Aramis stood up to get his bag, which he had left at D'Artagnan's end of the couch.

"What? Why? When?"

Aramis raised his hands up. "Calm down. Not right now, but you'll be adopted."

"Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving. . ." Porthos listed the holidays that were times for family gathering. "We've scared Athos off though."

"I prefer a little more quiet and a bottle of Laphroaig that I do not have to share," Athos commented. He was elusive about his family. What Porthos and Aramis both knew is that he had parents and there had been an estrangement. "Why am I the only one working?"

Aramis rolled his eyes. "Because you're at a higher pay grade? Oh, that was a rhetorical question." He pulled his laptop from the bag. "No worries, d'Artagnan. You've gained an extended family."

"Whether you like it or not." Porthos returned his attention back to his case, but not before seeing the grin on d'Artagnan's face.

***(((())))***


	4. Undercover Blues

Title: Undercover Blues

A/N: Thank you again to followers, readers, reviewers and those that chose this story as a favorite. I truly appreciate it. This was inspired by Porthos's line in episode 1.10 about acting. I hope you enjoy. This is self edited.

* * *

The doorbell rang first, then there was a banging on the door as if the doorbell was insufficient. Aramis had already moved from the couch, and made his way to the door, surprised at who he saw through the glass. "Are you okay?"

Porthos swept inside, and Aramis looked around outside before closing the door. His friend's motorcycle was parked in front of the garage. He shook his head thinking about the long ride his fellow agent had taken.

Aramis found that Porthos had taken the comfortable place on the couch that he had vacated. He narrowed his eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Of course I'm okay," the taller man replied in a huff. "You know people don't turn up on your doorstep because they are wounded."

He took a seat on the other edge of the leather couch, grabbing the remote from the coffee table to pause the _Walking Dead_ rerun. "That is only true when it comes to women on my doorstep." It was rare his services were not needed by the men he worked with as they were magnets for trouble. "Aren't you supposed to be undercover?" Porthos was part of an operation in Oklahoma.

Porthos was showing signs of sleepless nights. It happened to the undercover operative when he worked in gang related activities with no one to trust or watch his back. He missed his brothers-in-arms, and they missed and worried for him.

"I didn't want to go back to that place." Porthos rubbed the scar above his eye.

Aramis went into the kitchen, bringing back two beers after popping the tops off. He didn't want his furniture being used as a bottle opener. He handed one to his teammate. "What's wrong?"

Porthos took a sip. "What's going on at the office?"

It was a diversion, and Aramis would play along with his friend to provide momentary solace. "We're assisting Tennessee State Police on a bank robbery. Dye pack left behind. We're looking at heading out there tomorrow."

Porthos nodded, accepting the distraction as a lifeline. "Got to do something about the dye pack. All the bank robbers know about it."

If the bank teller was able to put the dye pack in with the other money, then it would explode upon leaving the building, coloring all the money in range. However, most bank robbers, whether verbally or in their note, would state they did not want the dye pack, and tellers were told that they should comply with the request. Human life was more important than money. "Not all of them. Remember Billy Bob?" Billy Bob Jones out of Missouri had decided on a life of crime, although at one point he had been a successful business man. The dye pack had exploded on the $300,000 he had stolen, and he picked the damaged money out.

"That should have been a lesson to you, my friend." Porthos lifted his beer and smiled. The first time he had broken free of the ennui that had attached itself to him. "He said it was a woman that led him to a life of crime."

Aramis snorted, placing the beer on the coffee table, but first sliding a coaster underneath. "I'm a little more discerning than that." The sniper allowed the moment of silence that followed. "We're not abandoning you. We would never do that."

"Treville will be my contact." Porthos drained the beer. He looked at it, then got up to go to the kitchen.

Aramis heard the refrigerator open. "He loves the cloak and dagger stuff. Doesn't get enough time in the field anymore," he called out.

"It's all acting." Porthos returned with a chilled bottle of water, going back to the couch.

"Is it?" Aramis licked his lips. "Patrick Vale does exist." That was the persona that Porthos had created over time, built on his experience growing up in a gang riddled area. Patrick Vale had an address, a social security number and a past.

Porthos peeled the label on the bottle. "I made him."

"Do you want to unmake him?

"Some days when he beats people up, has a blind eye to domestic abuse, then yeah, I don't like the guy."

Aramis looked his friend's hands. There were no abrasions or bruises, signs of a battle were missing, which met that Porthos had seen the other. A woman hurt in his presence, and he had been powerless to stop it. That would have required him to risk his cover. "We're going to get the bad guy in the end."

"That's what I keep telling myself." His hand was about to go the scar on his face, but then he dropped it, rubbing It on the chaps he wore for long motorcycle rides.

"Do you want out? We can call Athos-" Aramis reached for his cellphone, lying on the coffee table.

Porthos pulled the cellphone closer to him. "No, I'm close, and I'm good at what I do. I just needed a break."

Aramis nodded. "Just don't lose yourself."

"With you three around?" Porthos laughed. "I'm sure I will always find my way back."

Aramis pointed to the television still on pause. It was an episode he had already seen. "Assassin's Creed, Game of Thrones or Boy Meets World?" He gave his teammate the options of a game, HBO or a throwback nineties television show.

A genuine smile broadened on Porthos's face. "I need me some Topanga." He referred to the girlfriend of the main character.

"Boy Meets World it is." He found the remote and cued up Netflix.

Porthos put his feet up, killing the water bottle, fidgeting a moment before becoming comfortable. "Thanks, man. It was one of those nights. You know the kind. Like day, but darker."

Aramis laughed at the perfectly quoted line from Boy Meets World. They would get the bad guy, he would pay for hitting the girl, Porthos would be back with them and all would be right for the Musketeers.

(())


	5. One of Two Ways

Title: One of Two Ways

By: Tidia

Notes: There is an *, and that is because that is not my idea, but from Sammiej. This was just an exercise to write about Sleight of Hand, so spoilers for that episode. Thank you for the kind comments, favorites, and followers. I have other ideas and will add as time permits.

((()))

d'Artagnan had joined them fresh from completing his training at Quantico. He had moved into the room above the bar at Dumas's over the weekend. Constance Bonacieux, who he had met when he first arrived in Paris would be his landlady. For a discount on the rent he would act as unofficial security and occasional bartender as his time permitted.

Treville had called a meeting in the conference room with the four of them. Vadim, who had been on many watch lists for domestic terrorism, was in Lubbock's local jail for resisting an arrest after not appearing in court for parking tickets. Vadim's picture was on the screen with a list of his alleged crimes.

The other three agents were known by Vadim's organization. "I think d'Artagnan is the perfect choice to go in," Treville stated.

d'Artagnan tried to school his features as Treville's eyes fell on him. He tried to inspire confidence. The new agent did not expect Athos to undermine him.

"To go to jail to make friends with Vandim." Athos clarified Treville's plan with a sarcastic edge to his voice.

The agent in charge must have picked up on the tone as he explained his thought process. "He has what Vadim looks for, former military, and once we add in disenchanted with some minor criminal activity, then the hope is that he will be taken in."

"Vandim is not one to share, even with his closest confidents," Athos pressed. It was obvious he was displeased with this plan, poking holes where he could.

Treville stood up. "We would just need d'Artagnan to get a lead on his plans, not to become best friends with the man."

"What if we come up with other options?" Athos glanced at the other men.

"Time is limited. I can give you two hours. Time is of the essence if this is to have a chance to succeed." Treville left them in the conference room.

d'Artagnan had remained silent, a little from shock at being given an assignment, the rest from the reaction of his teammate. Was it that Athos had no faith in him? Did the others not trust his abilities? "I can do this."

"It's not a matter of not being able to do something, but if you should." Athos looked like he was going to hit the table with his fist, but instead let it tap lightly. "You are a trainee."

They had invited him to become an agent after he'd lost his father, put the dream in his head. He didn't understand why they wouldn't let him to his job. "I _am_ almost a full special agent, and I did sign up for this."

"He has a point," Aramis said, leaning back in his chair as if a spectator in a sporting event.

Athos's brows went up in challenge. "You're picking sides?"

Aramis returned his chair back to the normal position. "No, I'm Switzerland."

Porthos snorted, garnering Athos's attention. "And you?"

"I'm on D'art's side." The dark skinned man winked at D'Artagnan.

"Liechtenstein was available," Aramis commented shaking his head.

Porthos crossed his arms, his biceps tights against the button down shirt. "I think he can handle it."

d'Artagnan felt buoyed by the support. "Thanks, Porthos." He still had to convince Athos, and the supervisory agent had proven to be stubborn. "I've been through Quantico, hell, I've been through SERE. I was an intelligence sergeant." He hated having to remind Athos that he was former military, not some green kid. Green Berets worked out of uniform. A big risk that left them outside the jurisdiction of the Geneva Convention, which meant they could be tortured if captured. It was why survival, evasion, resistance and escape or SERE training was so important. He also helped identify groups that had been mistreated to make them a guerrilla army, collected intelligence and located targets. He would have remained in the Army if he hadn't promised his father that he would return home to help him on the farm after he had served his time and gone through college.

Aramis licked his finger and put up an imaginary line in the air. "Point for him."

"Still Switzerland?" Athos remarked. "You are still a trainee. There is a period where you work with other agents before we throw you to the wolves."

"Point for Athos." Aramis gave Athos a nod. "See? Switzerland."

He was supposed to be a comrade, a peer, not a kid brother. It was fine when they were off duty to treat him differently, but not at work where he would gladly make the same sacrifice for them as they would for him. "Do you have another choice? Another plan?"

Aramis and Porthos both shook their heads, Athos answered with a quiet, "No."

"Then, I'm going to tell Treville I'm going in. I'm going to need help though. As much as you are willing to give me. I know I am a trainee and have a lot to learn." d'Artagnan felt the nervousness of a mission zing through him. He would need a new background, would have to learn it, and need to know more about Vadim.

"We can do that," Aramis replied. "Athos is a master at creating dossiers. What name were you thinking of taking?"

"Something close to your own works best," Porthos advised being the usual undercover operative.

"Charles Batz. We'll use your first name and your mother's maiden name," Athos replied. "Go on, tell Treville." He waved d'Artagnan out of the room.

((()))

Athos did not like the variables in this mission, especially when Vadim staged a breakout from the Lubbock prison, and D'artagnan went with him. The others of course took it as a good sign that d'Artagnan had made into Vadim's graces, but it was not a time to relax.

At least the young agent was able to contact them to tell them he was in Dallas. Athos set up a meeting a week after the jailbreak- they all had moved to working out of the Dallas office with Treville allowing them to solely focus on Vadim instead of carrying other cases. Athos met d'Artagnan at a coffee shop, out of the way and on the outskirts of Dallas, which was more residential than urban. Too out of the way for any of Vadim's men.

Athos was there waiting for d'Artagnan when he entered. Athos was struck at how young he looked even while looking unkempt. He was unshaven, the denim jacket he was wearing looked like it had seen better days as did his jeans and shirt. His appearance got him a glare from the barista who had immediately marked him as dangerous.

d'Artagnan ignored this and slid into the chair opposite Athos. "Nice place."

Athos pushed the large black coffee he had gotten for the young agent across the table. d'Artagnan pulled it towards him and took off the lid. Athos noticed the bruised and cut knuckles. "What happened to you?"

"What happens in fight club stays in fight club." D'Artagnan rubbed the raised skin on his knuckles.

Athos leaned in. "I'm not amused." Aramis and Porthos had a habit of using movie quotes in an annoying way, and now he discovered d'Artagnan was part of that club.

d'Artagnan took a gulp of the coffee. "I'm fine, really. Superficial stuff."

"Keep it that way," Athos ordered, not trusting d'Artagnan to stay out of harm's way if his experience with the two other agents was any guide.

d'Artagnan's eyes slid sideways out the window. "The plan is to cause a disruption at the governor's rally in Dallas."

Athos frowned. This was not what he expected from Vadim, who was mostly involved in underground movements, never so blatant and open. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know, but you have about five well-armed men to deal with, maybe eight. I made a list of their names and the weapons I've seen." D'Artagnan slid a small piece of paper to Athos.

Athos covered it with his hand, without looking he placed it in his pocket. "We'll be ready."

"I think there is something more, but I don't know what it is."

"We are working our own angles." Aramis and Porthos were running some other leads. Athos tried to collect as much information as possible, because in the data there was usually a pattern.

"See you soon." d'Artagnan nodded, then slipped out of the booth.

"Stay safe," Athos said after the younger man, loud enough that it had been heard. He waited fifteen minutes before leaving the coffee shop to head back to the office to think of a plan.

((()))

Staying safe may have not been to get handcuffed to enough C4 to take out the whole Dallas Museum of Art. d'Artagnan was thankful once again for his military training that lead him to put a piece of wire along the sole of each boot.* Kneeling and with a little flexibility, he got the wire, opened the handcuffs to free himself. He disconnected the C4. He allowed himself to feel the moment of relief until he exited out to the basement to find he had set off a booby trap.

It was not his finest moment. It was a rookie mistake. A mistake of trainee, he admitted thinking about Athos's admonishment. Forgetting a man like Vadim always had a contingency plan led d'Artagnan to be thrown hard against a wall when he did not put enough distance between himself and the explosion.

His hearing was muffled, expect for the ringing in his ears. A film of dust and debris covered him as the young agent leveraged himself to hands and knees before swaying to standing, using the wall to assist him in gaining equilibrium.

He was alive. He could use that to his advantage since Vadim believed he was dead. Vadim had also gotten cocky, only removing the gun the young agent had tucked in a shoulder holster, not the Kbar knife he carried. It was true what Malone in the _Untouchables_ said, you shouldn't bring a knife to a gun fight, but he had to make it work along with the element of surprise.

d'Artagnan caught up to the criminal. The element of surprise resulted in hand to hand to hand combat once d'Artagnan was able to divest Vadim of his 9 millimeter. d'Artagnan had the knife and pressed his advantage, stabbing Vadim before the older former military man to strike d'Artagnan with an unexpected upper cut to allow him enough time to exit out of the basement, dropping the Ancient American artifacts he had taken that had been stored in the basement with limited security.

d'Artagnan was going to give chase when he saw Athos, Porthos and Aramis. He gave a short wave. He couldn't make out what they were saying, but the answer, "I'm alive," seemed to bring about relieved reactions from the three faces as they set out to follow Vadim.

Vadim had not gotten too far, just outside the exit into the sunlight, trying to crawl to freedom. He didn't have much to say, or at least nothing d'Artagnan could hear through the humming and pain in his ears.

They watched him take his last breaths, and Aramis said a prayer over him, while Porthos with gloves on collected the items that Vandim had tried to steal sealing them in plastic bags. It was Athos who scrutinized d'Artagnan. The new agent tried not to waver, but must of lost that battle because Aramis had moved next to him, standing by with a hand on his elbow.

"Are you all right?"

Athos answered for him. "He doesn't look all right."

Aramis's hand startled him as it touched his ear. When he pulled it away the fingertips shined with blood. "Damn it. He was close to the explosion."

"Were you close to the explosion?"

D'artagnan scrunched his face to try to decipher what was being said, only to feel scrapes on his face. "What?"

Aramis forced him to sit, pulling him down. "I think he perforated his ear drums," Aramis said it loud enough that d'Artagnan could hear him.

"Yeah, in the blast." His hand moved towards his chest as he felt a pain settle there.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" Aramis did not wait for an answer as he lifted the younger man's shirt. "Ribs for sure and there is a lot of bruising. Bruises on the back, too."

"Chest hurts," he admitted. Being near an explosion usually brought with it lung blast. Chest pain was a symptom.

"Porthos, tell the ambulance to meet us back here," Athos ordered.

d'Artagnan would have liked to have known what was said, and Aramis could read his puzzled expression. "We're going to the hospital."

((()))

The doctors decided that holding d'Artagnan for twenty four observation was the best course of action.

As usual when one of them was injured they moved into the private room, watching over their youngest comrade who was receiving oxygen through a mask that muffled his conversation. Athos and the others had explained that their investigation of Vadim revealed his time as a security guard at the Dallas Museum of Art so when they discovered the ruse at the governor's rally; they knew they had to get the museum.

"We can't leave him with Constance for a week," Athos had heard what the doctor had said. At least a week of rest in order to recuperate properly from the cracked ribs, kidney bruising, perforated ear drums, level one concussion, minor lung blast and the other contusions that he had collected.

"Have you seen the way those two look at each other?" Aramis grinned.

"She's married."

"You don't get a say in this. Let the big boys make the decisions," Porthos replied to d'Artagnan's comment.

Aramis stretched in the chair he had taken over. "I think that our leader has volunteered to take in our newest recruit-"

"I did not." Athos growled. "You're the one with medical knowledge-"

Aramis was not rebuffed. He was more than a match for Athos in a battle of wills. "But your house is secluded and quiet."

"And there are women coming and going at all hours of the night at Aramis's place," Porthos added.

d'Artagnan snickered, then gripped his ribs as it had aggravated his injury.

Aramis gave both the injured agent and Porthos a withering glare. "Thank you for making it sound like a brothel."

"Just trying to help." Porthos shrugged his shoulders. "Someone more responsible needs to watch over him."

"You are the supervisory agent," Aramis said as he stood up.

"When it's convenient you remember," Athos groused, taking up the chair Aramis has just vacated. "Head back to the hotel after you close out everything at the office."

"Fine with us, boss," Porthos said, then pointed to d'Artagnan, who was fast asleep. "And like I said, he really doesn't have a choice."

Athos remained at the hospital until he was satisfied that the young agent would remain asleep for the rest of the night. He didn't know if he was ready to take on another charge, but he had accepted the challenge of another brother. A younger brother that he wanted to protect.

He was still mulling his protective nature when he arrived at the hospital the next morning. They would make the drive to Paris together. At the hospital Athos did not knock before entering d'Artagnan's room. D'artagnan was up, hunched over wearing Aramis's borrowed track pants, but the shirt was clenched in his hands. His torso was filled with bruises covering a kaleidoscope of color that would bring soreness and pain until they fully healed.

"Hey," d'Artagnan looked up. "You're early."

"Need help?" Athos asked in a louder voice, but was already taking the shirt out of the young agent's hands. He unbuttoned it, again another borrow from Aramis, then slipped d'Artagnan's hand in one sleeve opening, doing the same on the other side. "Can you manage the buttons?"

d'Artagnan nodded. "Yeah, thanks."

"Discharge papers?" Athos saw them on the bed. He flipped through them. "We need to get some prescriptions filled." According to the doctors d'Artagnan's hearing would return soon. He was already improving in that regard, and they rest of the injuries would heal, too with some rest.

"Is this part of your job description or am I special?"

"Special, since I think you set a record of the shortest time as a trainee to be injured."

"Almost a full agent," d'Artagnan muttered.

"Almost only counts with horse shoes and hand grenades," Athos quipped.

d'Artagnan stood, then rubbed the bandage on his head. "Is this the kind of advice I can expect from you this week?"

"Pearls of wisdom." Athos grinned as he grabbed the plastic bag the contained d'Artagnan's belongings.

"This is going to be _worse_ than being in Lubbock jail." d'Artagnan groaned melodramatically as he shuffled out the door.

Athos kept a slow pace, gave a nod to the nurses at the station. Aramis had flirted with them, which had gained them from leeway. "Hardly, you have your own bathroom. Just keep it neat."

d'Artagnan snorted, bringing a hand to his injured ribs. "You won't even know I'm there."

"Too late for that." Athos stepped closer to d'Artagnan so their shoulders brushed. Adding a new agent to the three inseparables, as they were called, could go one of two ways, and Athos had a feeling it would be the best decision he had ever allowed himself to be talked into.


End file.
